First Impressions
by Evilyn Grendel
Summary: At Aziraphale's insistent request, Crowley reads a book. Two centuries later, the demon learns why this book, in particular, was so important to the angel. Cowritten by Arthur Albion.
1. Chapter 1

_Cowritten by Arthur Albion_

* * *

February 1813

"Oh, this one is simply marvellous, Crowley. The story, it's quite modern, about . . ."

Aziraphale was gushing about some new book that had just been published. From what Crowley understood, the angel had met and befriended the author, despite that the book had been published anonymously last month. This wasn't surprising, Aziraphale loved getting to know the humans who wrote the stories he cherished. Being friendly also made it easier for him to obtain a personally signed copy.

Crowley couldn't see much point in befriending humans, but it still happened on occasion. He tried to keep his contact limited to assignments. Or when he personally wanted something, which wasn't often.

The angel had been fascinated by writing since writing had been invented. Crowley could recall finding the angel in Sumer learning cuneiform and again a bit later in Egypt learning hieroglyphs from the locals. His delight had never dimmed as the human languages evolved and shifted and split into new dialects and eventually different languages entirely. In fact, Aziraphale had been over the moon in his excitement after the Germans invented the printing press. His favourite thing, now available en mass and without the pesky problem of bad penmanship. Clever humans. Spelling was still coming along. Slowly. They would get there, eventually. Hopefully.

With more books than ever before, Aziraphale had decided to open a bookshop in London as a place to finally keep his collection. Crowley had quickly decided he liked the shop. It was nice to know exactly where Aziraphale would be the majority of the time. He didn't have to worry if the angel had just decided to pop off to Japan or wherever in the world. Usually. Until Aziraphale got peckish, apparently.

There was a lull as Aziraphale fell silent, looking at the demon expectantly. Crowley banished the small smile from his face as he sat up in his seat and cleared his throat. "Right, course. Of course. I'm glad you enjoy it so much. Sounds fascinating, angel."

"Yes," said Aziraphale. He could tell when the demon had stopped paying attention and tried to hide his annoyance. "So, you'll do it then?"

"Uh," Crowley said elegantly. "I, sure. Yeah. Whatever you want."

"Splendid! I am positive you'll just adore it. I shall lend to you a copy so long as you can take care of it. Return it whenever you are ready. My shop doors are always open to you."

"Right." Crowley was doing his best to work out what it was Aziraphale wanted him to do without actually asking outright. He had gotten away with his lapse in attention, no reason to admit to it now. It was actually very rare for him to be so wrapped up in his own thoughts when Aziraphale was around. Luckily, it seemed the angel just wanted him to read this new book. This was, technically a simple request, and not one Crowley could easily back out of now.

Sitting in his flat holding a copy of _Pride & Prejudice, Volume the First_, Crowley glared at the cover. The second and third volumes were on the table in front of him. He had often been told by Aziraphale that he should read some book or another in their infrequent moments where they were able to simply sit and converse, but this was the first time Aziraphale had been so determined. Going even as far as lending the demon his precious copy of the book was nothing to take lightly.

The problem, however, was Crowley's eyes. He had a difficult time reading. It wasn't the language, English was actually rather simple as far as linguistic shifts they had adapted to over the centuries. It was the physical work itself. Handwritten and printed both, they were too stationary for him to easily focus on the wiggly lines of script. The letters of humans all looked too similar and too different simultaneously. This fault was not something he would ever admit to aloud. He could read and write, of course, but he avoided it like a plague. More than he'd avoided plagues, actually. Pestilence was no threat to him, even if they were remarkably vexatious.

With a sigh, he opened the cover to the unblemished title page, flipped through the unmarked pages before he settled in to struggle through what had better be a very damn good book. Crowley enjoyed stories, but he found the greatest enjoyment in the oral tradition. Sitting around letting someone tell him a story, or read it to him, was preferable. The demon had highly favoured the Ancient Greeks. Their oral tradition of story and their enduring insistence to encourage learning and spread knowledge were all sentiments with which he could wholeheartedly agree.

* * *

April 1813

Two months later, Crowley snapped _Volume the Third_ closed and set it down on the table with its companions. His head throbbed and his eyes stung. He blinked, and they did feel a bit better. Standing with a stretch, he thought about what he had just read. Aziraphale had been right, the story was interesting, though rather homey. Not a bad thing, but it had been difficult to concentrate on the drama of Elizabeth and Darcy, and Jane and Bingley when his thoughts kept drifting to the angel. Bingley reminded him of Aziraphale. The man was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. He was lively and unreserved. He was extremely agreeable and charmed you instantly upon making your acquaintance with his natural manners then further endeared himself to everyone with the mildness of his temper.

Crowley had to agree the same could be said for Bingley. Crowley's own disposition was of such extreme contrast. It had crossed his mind at one point to wonder at the stark contrast between Bingley and Darcy yet their friendship was so strong. Baffling.

The demon decided to wait a few days before going to see Aziraphale and return the volumes. He knew the angel would be anxious about their absence, but Crowley couldn't read any faster. He had tried. Crowley wanted a nap, and he should probably do something evil. Soon. Sure, he had been slothful, but that excuse only went so far in Hell. Sinning might be encouraged, but he still had work to do.

Quite a lot of work to do, actually. Crowley hadn't noticed the assignments piling up as he had been absorbed in the book. Glancing from the haphazard stack of grubby papers to the three pristine hardbacks, he sighed. Ignoring the paperwork, he changed his clothes as he walked into the bedroom for a quick kip.

Fighting the urge to sleep for a month, Crowley roused himself after only a couple of days. He glared at the work still sitting on his desk, suspecting a few more pages had shown up whilst he slept. Typical Hastur. With a click of his fingers, he began to sort through the work with gloved hands. Paper from Hell was always so dirty, usually just a bit of soot, but sometimes a bit sticky if you were very unlucky. Not to mention the thin residue of slime that seemed to be omnipresent. He needed to find a new way for Hell to communicate assignments.

It seemed like less work when Crowley had stacked all the small assignments off to the side and focused on the longer page detailing some strike in Durham and how Hell wanted him to interfere. The small stuff could wait and there were a number of things he could combine with a bit of imagination to finish sooner. Throwing the gloves down onto the table, he gathered the books up as he left the flat.

The bookshop sign said _Closed_, but that had never stopped Crowley from walking right in and he did so now.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale smiled to himself at the unmistakable sound of Crowley's voice coming from the front of the shop. He had been expecting the demon and conveniently hadn't bothered to open the shop. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, Crowley might be persuaded to a drink.

"Crowley, do come in," raising his voice slightly to ensure he was heard, the angel bookmarked his place.

Crowley crossed the shop and found Aziraphale exactly where he expected. Sitting in his usual chair, book in hand. He swallowed the smile threatening his face. Instead, he held up the three books to cover his slight pause. "Just returning these."

"Yes, thank you." Standing up, he accepted the books with a smile. They looked well cared for in their absence, and he was silently very grateful to the demon. "Would you like something to drink?"

"I wish I could, but duty demands my presence in the North. Something about coal in Durham."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Years of practice kept Aziraphale from sounding or looking crestfallen at the rejection. He nodded in understanding.

"Uh, yeah. Shouldn't be too long. I'll take you up on that drink when I return?"

"Yes," Aziraphale smiled warmly in reply, knowing that thanking the demon twice in one conversation was pushing it. "Mind how you go, dear."


	2. Chapter 2

_Cowritten by Arthur Albion_

* * *

September 2005

"Have you heard about that new film coming out?" They were sitting in their usual places opposite each other in the back room of the shop. There was a mostly full bottle of wine on the table between them; they had just started.

"Lots of films these days, angel. Which?"

"Based on a Jane Austen novel, with Keira Knightley. That lovely girl from the pirate film you hated."

"Right. That. Well, if Sparrow had any brains instead of just the armour of the plot, it might actually have been decent. Not to mention the elf running around all over the place. How did that make any sense? An elf on a pirate ship?" Crowley sighed as he shook his head.

"I do believe he was playing a different character."

"Whatever."

"Yes, well. The new Austen film. I am looking forward to it. She was such a lovely lady when I met her, Miss Austen. We had a delightful chat over lunch concerning her second work. I think I might have even inspired her a bit."

"Mm."

"It was quite a shock to her when I asked her about her first novel. It was published anonymously, you know, so I had to work out who she was but I was quite certain when I did find her. I probably have the only signed copies of her books."

"You'll have to gloat to the other rare and ancient book dealers in London. All twelve of them."

"I do not gloat!"

"Right."

"Anyway. I think I might even go to the theatre. When it is available."

"Cinema."

"Whatever. Oh, but I do hope it won't be too different from the book. That television program a few years ago, it was a lovely adaptation."

Crowley sighed. He had no idea what Aziraphale was talking about. "Which?"

"_Pride and Prejudice_."

"Oh." The change in the demon was instantaneous as he sat up a bit neater on the couch. "I really enjoyed her usage in the disparity between the socioeconomic classes as a development tool. You see it in the primary characters as they change over the course of the novel, maturing and coming to understand themselves as well as each other. The complex portrayal of the various marriages throughout invites the reader to question the different reasons for marriage. Reasons like their differing privileges, economy, and attractions such as sexual and companionship. You really get a beautiful portrait of how these reasons for marriage and partnership shape the failure and success of said unions. Then she even goes a bit further showing how they endure the test of time when you look, for example, at the union between the Bennets. A union of love, not too unlike Lydia and Wickham, though with a drastically different outcome. Quite radical for the time period whilst remaining contemporary. She's more than just romances."

Aziraphale stared at the demon open-mouthed.

Crowley met his blue-eyed gaze, a little surprised by the angel's surprise. He knew Aziraphale liked to discuss literature. "What?"

"Er, quite," Aziraphale was struggling to catch up. He continued to stare at Crowley, this time with open curiosity. "I thought you didn't read."

"I can read. Don't make a habit of it like you."

"You read _Pride and Prejudice_?" There was the beginning of growing delight in the angel's tone.

"You asked me to read it centuries ago! Leant it to me and everything."

"Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean you had read it."

"Course I read it. You asked me to, didn't you." There was a bit of colour staining his face now, and the demon had shifted his attention to his drink.

"And you liked it?" Aziraphale was practically beaming.

"I just, it's, yeah," Crowley sighed. "I did. Bit domestic, but it was all right."

The angel sat up a bit more in his chair, setting his mostly full glass of wine on the desk as he gave Crowley his full attention. "What did you think of the characters then? Elizabeth? Darcy?"

"Oh, well, I don't really understand why Lizzie likes Darcy. He's kind of a prick really. Sure, he's all charming when he wants to impress her, but it was called _First Impressions_ for a reason, right. Bingley though, that's a proper gentleman. Jane does much better than Lizzie, in my opinion. Lizzie might be richer after they marry, but wealth and social standing are not exactly painted as advantageous in this story."

"No, but it certainly doesn't hurt," Aziraphale said, his eyes suddenly gleaming with almost wicked delight.

"I never thought I would see the day you were arguing in favour of Greed, angel." Crowley was amused, but also a bit confused by such a reply. It's not like either of them worried about money. With centuries of planning in place, they were both rather wealthy in their own rights. And they could conjure money from nothing even if they hadn't bothered to save and invest the slow human way.

"I simply fail to see what you find so abhorrent about Darcy. I think he's devilishly handsome and charming."

"Tch. If you go in for that sort of thing. I guess." Crowley rolled his eyes, snatching up his own glass from the table instead of just looking at it.

Aziraphale had been fighting to keep a smile off his face for a while now and had finally lost. "I rather do. Tall, dark, and handsome, I believe is the, classification."

At that announcement, Crowley stood up. "Right, well, good thing that's such a common trope. I hear it's popular in romance stories. Right up your alley." The demon stalked away. The shop layout was such that no matter how far Crowley wandered, they could have a conversation without shouting to be heard. Miraculously.

"I believe many writers have taken their inspiration from Darcy. It is a pity the muse for Darcy didn't particularly enjoy the character. He's normally so clever." The angel picked up his own wine glass, still smiling to himself.

"See, that's my point! Darcy is an annoying, smug bugger. Bingley is the better of the two. No matter anyone's opinions of Darcy, you have to admit Bingley is like, well, like a proper angel. In his own sort of way. Not like you, er, rather a lot like you. But, you know what I mean. He's, he's Good."

It took the angel's entire willpower not to giggle into his glass. He wiggled in his chair and took a sip of his wine to fortify himself. "I think you're missing the point. Even though he may seem cold on acquaintance, Darcy is a kind person at heart. He's simply a bit shy."

"What a load of rubbish. Who would want to get to know someone so cold and rude? Lizzie has one conversation with him, right, he insults her! She decides she hates him, and then I'm supposed to believe he's just shy and they're in love by the end of the book? No, you can't trust someone like that. I wouldn't trust him. I don't trust him." The demon had completed his lap of the room and returned to their area. Crowley dropped himself onto the couch in a pile of limbs, but without spilling his alcohol.

The angel smirked and took a long sip of his wine. "You've completely overlooked the development of the character as his true nature is revealed to Elizabeth. He's clever, kind, and fiercely protective of his loved ones. Yes, he may be proud in the beginning but he learnt from his mistakes."

"He only learnt when Lizzie forced him into some much-needed introspection after rejecting him the first time. Good for her, I thought. She's too good for him. Better keep him in line now they're married. Jane won't have that problem though. Really, she made the better match, but all people are ever on about is Darcy. Darcy Darcy Darcy. Even you. What about Bingley?" Crowley huffed in irritation.

"As Bingley's muse, I can attest that Darcy is a far more fascinating and attractive character."

This gave the demon pause. "Oh. You, the author, you were the inspiration for Bingley? That does make sense, yeah. You really are rather similar." He sipped his wine. "But that just proves your bias. You're so annoyingly humble, you would never go on about Bingley. Or yourself. No wonder you're so into Darcy. You haven't really given Bingley proper thought."

"I will admit, I am biased and I'm quite afraid it leaked into the narrative when Miss Austen wrote Darcy's character. Although, my influence had little to do with Bingley. Miss Austen took those liberties herself."

"Hang on, you said you were the muse for Bingley. What bias would you have presented for Darcy then?"

"Well, you see, I was really quite close friends with his muse at the time. Miss Austen was such an excellent listener and she was ever so curious whenever I brought him up in conversation. I may have painted him in a favourable light and she took notice. Even if he himself refuses to see it."

Crowley couldn't even begin to guess at who Aziraphale was referencing. This had been before that Gray writer and well before the angel joined that club thing. "Must be one hell of a friend you had two centuries ago."

"He still is, even if he is a bit daft."

"Still," Crowley repeated as he trailed off.

Realisation smacked him solidly in the face. "Hang on, I'm the basis for Darcy? Angel, no. You're making that up."

"I'm afraid not, dear boy," Aziraphale said.

"I don't believe you. I'm not like Darcy. How would I possibly be like Darcy? You called him shy and kind and all that nonsense. I am most definitely not. We are not similar at all. Darcy is an idiot."

The angel only smiled in reply.

"Nononono," The wine glass was forgotten as Crowley stood up and began to pace with far more earnest than he had earlier. Aziraphale's descriptions of Darcy floated through his mind.

_Seems cold on acquaintance_

_May be proud in the beginning_

_A kind person at heart_

_Clever, kind, and fiercely protective_

_Simply a bit shy_

_Devilishly handsome and charming_

_Tall, dark, and handsome_

_Fascinating and attractive character_

_Learnt from his mistakes_

In a very un-Crowley like reaction, his face flushed a deep red. Human corporations existed just to betray you, he was positive of this theory. Had been for millennia. The demon put several shelves between himself and the angel.

It made sense. Crowley had always been a bit curious about Aziraphale's specific insistence that he read this book in particular. He was supposed to be a character, or the inspiration for a character rather. And Aziraphale had been written into the story as well. Aziraphale had been excited for Crowley to read a story that was somewhat about themselves.

"Seems like a bit of Vanity, angel, getting yourself written into a book. In how many other stories do you feature as a central character?"

"You make it sound like I did this on purpose. I suggested nothing, it was all her own work. I simply inspired the idea, it seemed. Accidentally."

"So you just sit around with any old human chatting about the demon, your hereditary enemy, to anyone who will listen? It has to be at least a little intentional."

"Of course not! She had come to me after writing a draft and asked my opinion. I made a few suggestions. About Darcy. One or two. Nothing drastic, really."

"Right. Just one or two."

Aziraphale pointedly ignored him as he poured himself another glass of wine. The silence was deafening.

"What did you say? These one or two suggestions. About Darcy." About me. This was dangerous territory, but Crowley was curious.

"You're making this out to be bigger than it was. I just, offered a few suggestions about his character and used you as an example for my points."

"Yeah, but what did you say? What about me was so striking as to inspire a character in a romance novel? Indulge me, angel." Crowley knew this was pushing much too far, but his need to know was overriding his sense of self-preservation. He was a temptation even to himself. Evil seeds of self-destruction.

"Fine. I only suggested that maybe appearances could be deceiving. That he wasn't truly heartless, that perhaps something had happened in his past that made him so guarded over himself and his loved ones. His trust in a greater good, broken but not beyond repair."

Crowley had been leaning against the side of one of the bookshelves, well out of sight, but he slid down the smooth wood until he was sitting on the floor elbows on bent knees and head in hands. He suddenly wished he had never read this stupid book, had never offered any indication he even knew it existed. Aziraphale wasn't being fair, but Crowley didn't believe anything in life was fair. How was this not too fast? And it had happened centuries ago. Taking a page from the angel's metaphorical book, he didn't let himself think about this. There was too much to unpack about that conversation.

"Right. Well, guess that's Wickham. He based on Gabriel then? And Michael? They're all insufferable."

"No, they would be Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Crowley really did burst out laughing. He hadn't been expecting that connection. It was much better than anything he could have come up with, and he hoped it was actually true. Humans really did excel at imagination in ways he could never compete. "Serves them right to be that old hag."

Pushing himself to his feet, Crowley returned to the couch and Aziraphale. The atmosphere felt more tolerable, more normal. Less, feelings and other tense things the demon didn't like to think about. Especially around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was careful not to smile at that remark, but he didn't disagree either. He rolled what little wine left in his glass anxiously. "You're not angry I accidentally inspired an authoress to base a character on you, are you, my dear?"

"No, angel. I'm surprised, yeah, but not mad. A little impressed, too. I wouldn't think of myself as worth writing about under normal circumstances. Any circumstances, really. Maybe you blessed her, the author lady, with a bit too much enthusiasm or something." He reached out for the wine glass he had abandoned earlier.

"Possibly." The angel had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. "But it all worked out in the end. It's one of the greatest romances of English literature."

"Yeah. I guess." Musing for a moment on the sort of reputation Darcy had, he smirked. "Guess I am quite the heartthrob."

Aziraphale scoffed without true feeling, glancing over at the demon before his eyes quickly settled back to his glass of wine. "Oh, good Lord."


End file.
